


No Greater Joy

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, SMUTCATION, character study through giving head, service top Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 12:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11714418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: There is no greater joy in the world, Lexa has learned, than burying her face between Clarke’s thighs as Clarke’s fingers comb gently through her hair.





	No Greater Joy

**Author's Note:**

> For my smutcation on tumblr (follow me @raedmagdon for more!)
> 
> The prompt was: "Is there anyway you can write Lexa going down on Clarke? I've noticed that Clarke tends to give Lexa head a lot more in your stories then the reverse."

There is no greater joy in the world, Lexa has learned, than burying her face between Clarke’s thighs as Clarke’s fingers comb gently through her hair.

As her tongue swirls, seeking the sensitive places she has learned by heart, Clarke strokes the top of her head, combing out the waves her braids have left. The steady petting, as well as Clarke’s taste, are enough to lift her to another plane of existence, a place where only the two of them exists.

Clarke tastes of salt and honey, a flavor Lexa longs for even when she isn’t in this position, flat on her belly with Clarke’s knees over her shoulders. She’s exactly the right amount of bitter, with a trace of sweetness to soften the edges, and whenever Clarke’s low moans herald a new rush of fluid, Lexa is all too eager to capture it in her mouth.

Perhaps she loves this because it has been forbidden to her. _Heda_ is not supposed to take a lover, one who might become a weakness. Perhaps she loves this because pleasing is exactly what she has been taught. _Heda_ is supposed to serve above all else, put her own needs aside to care for others. Or perhaps it is simply the warmth she feels in her chest whenever Clarke says her name, in a tone filled with as much love as desire.

“Lexa…”

Above all else, Lexa loves hearing her name. So few people address her that way, and none of them like Clarke. No one else speaks her name with such tenderness, such happiness, such unrestrained affection. Outside their bedroom walls, neither of them are allowed to be emotional. She is a servant-leader, Clarke is a clever politician. They are their roles, but here, in their bed, they can cast all of that aside. Between Clarke’s legs, Lexa tastes freedom.

There is something about the way Clarke’s hips roll against her mouth that makes Lexa feel weightless. Each rocking motion is a plea, but one she is all too glad to answer. This must be what living among the stars is like, she thinks as she draws Clarke’s swollen clit between her lips. This feeling of floating without a tether. All she wants in the world is to make Clarke float with her.

Clarke is impatient, but Lexa takes her time. She obeys each tug of Clarke’s hand in her hair, each whispered word, “There—harder— _yes_ —” but at her own steady pace. She wants to savor this. She wants to live among the stars for a while longer, with Clarke’s taste on her tongue and Clarke’s scent in her nose.

Lexa pulls back for just a moment and inhales, admiring her handiwork. Clarke is open, glistening, and it is all for her. So few things are in this world, and she is grateful that this, that Clarke, is one of them. Clarke is dripping for her, straining for her, quivering visibly for her. Lexa resumes, flicking just so through Clarke’s pink lips, catching strands of white glaze on the tip of her tongue.

“Lexa!”

She knows that tone of voice. Clarke will not tolerate this torture for long, and Lexa has come to accept that withholding her lover's pleasure is impossible. But she takes just one more taste for herself, swirling her tongue over Clarke’s entrance to feel the muscles there pulse.

Clarke squirms, grasping her hair tighter. “Lexa,” she rasps, her voice both pleading and demanding, “suck me.” And because she cannot deny Clarke anything when they make love, Lexa does. She pulls Clarke’s clit back between her lips, sucking until the thighs on either side of her face start to tremble. Even she is impatient now, dizzy with the anticipation of Clarke’s peak. Sometimes—often—she desire it even more than release for herself.

It only takes a few moments. Clarke goes rigid and begins pulsing, all the while muttering things Lexa cannot quite make out. She doesn’t need to. She has heard everything Clarke feels for her a thousand times already, and tasting the proof of it is enough. She lavishes Clarke’s clit with attention, enjoying the way it twitches with each short jerk of Clarke’s hips, but she cannot resist dipping back down to taste her well-earned reward.

Drinking from the flood of her efforts is the last indulgence that Lexa permits herself. After a few sharp-sweet bursts, she returns to sucking, swirling her tongue steady and slow, first in one direction, then the other, never keeping the same pattern for more than a few seconds.

Clarke’s release extends for several precious seconds, seconds that Lexa imprints into a memory map to revisit later. These are the moments she revisits when she is lonely, when she is tired, when she is plagued with self-doubt, as those with heavy burdens so often are. These are the moments that feed and sustain her soul, just as water and air sustain her body.

“Lexa.”

There is a smile in Clarke’s voice, and Lexa’s eyes see it as well as she gazes up past the soft curve of Clarke’s belly and between the swells of her breasts. She aches to palm them, but it is an uncomfortable reach, so she slides her hands beneath Clarke’s backside instead, groping the firmness she finds there.

That earns a laugh. “Aren’t you done yet?” Clarke asks, shaking her head. A lock of golden hair clings to her cheek and her blue eyes are tender.

“Never,” Lexa says, resting her cheek against the pillow of Clarke’s thigh. Clarke’s warmth is already calling to her again, and how can she resist? The parted pink lips coated in fluid silk are made for her tongue, just as she is made for Clarke. If this is weakness, she will be weak again and again, as long as Clarke allows.

Clarke gives an indulgent sigh. “Then clean up your mess,” she says, giving Lexa’s hair an affectionate tug, “and make a new one.”

Lexa bows her head. She is all too happy to comply.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] No Greater Joy by RaeDMagdon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716386) by [carboncopies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carboncopies/pseuds/carboncopies)




End file.
